


Should The Fates Be Kind

by Ink_Gypsy



Series: Lucky Clover Diner Universe [1]
Category: LOTR RPF (AU)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sean Astin/Elijah Wood - Freeform, holiday fics, manips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_Gypsy/pseuds/Ink_Gypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a snowy New Year's Eve, the owner of a small, family diner plays good Samaritan to a homeless teen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should The Fates Be Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for New Year's Eve 2015
> 
> The photo heading this fic is of a real diner. I liked the look of it, so I changed the color scheme and manipped it into The Lucky Clover.

[](http://s755.photobucket.com/user/elwoodlovesirish/media/elwoodlovesirish061/The%20Lucky%20Clover%20Diner.gif.html)

The wind roared, rattling The Lucky Clover Diner’s front windows, and proving that December was determined to go out like a lion. Snow had begun during the last hour, thick, wet flakes that would only add to the treachery of driving on New Year’s Eve once the partygoers started for home, especially the ones who'd overindulged and hadn't chosen a designated driver.

Sean wiped the counter, glad he had decided against closing early. He considered staying open to be a public service. It was basic human need that brought people to the diner on a night like this. Food to fill the belly, contact with another person to soothe the soul. But from his lack of customers, Sean surmised most people were ending 2015 on a high note, and were satisfying their needs elsewhere. Still, if anyone had a few too many and needed to sober up for the drive home, Sean would be there with pots of strong coffee to help them go safely on their way.

As he usually did on the day before a holiday, Sean had let his cook and wait staff go home early. Sean didn't think it was right to keep them away from their family celebrations, and since he was single and rarely had holiday plans, he had no problem working the last shift alone. The dinner hours were long over, and anyone showing up this late was normally only looking for coffee and dessert, but if anyone did want something more to eat, Sean could handle quick diner food like burgers or eggs just fine.

The Kaufmans, an elderly couple who came in two or three times a week, mostly for the breakfast special (eggs over easy with sausage and white toast for him, scrambled eggs with bacon and wheat toast for her) had surprised Sean by coming in for a New Year's Eve dinner, and had lingered for the last hour over coffee and pie. They'd been coming into the diner for years, going back to when The Lucky Clover had been his grandfather's, and Sean considered them not only customers, but friends. It was always a treat to see them, so Sean was disappointed when they rose to leave. He moved from behind the counter to the register to take their money. “How was everything, folks?” he asked as he handed Mr. Kaufman his change.

“Delicious, Sean,” Mrs. Kaufman told him, “just like always. We're so grateful you didn't sell the diner after your father retired and your folks moved to Arizona. This place wouldn't be the same if you weren't running it.” Her husband echoed her sentiments, then both wished Sean "Happy New Year!" before they bundled into their coats and hats to brave the snow on their walk home, only a few doors down from the diner. They were both in good health, steady on their feet, and were dressed for the bad weather, down to heavy boots, so Sean didn't worry about their making it home safely.

There was a time when Sean hadn't been so sure he wanted to run the diner. He'd had aspirations to become a lawyer, but there hadn't been enough money for college, much less law school, so since he'd grown up working in the diner after school and on weekends, he just continued, eventually taking over the day-to-day operations when his aging parents could no longer handle the long hours required to keep the business running. 

He thought he'd finally have his chance when his father's health had forced his parents to move to a warmer climate, and they made the decision to sell the diner. But fate seemed to be against him again when the only buyer they could find wanted only the property and intended to demolish the diner. Sean couldn't bear the idea of The Lucky Clover, his family's business and a vital part of the neighborhood for almost half a century closing its doors, so he agreed to take over and keep the diner open and in the family. "Just call me George Bailey," he'd often joke to regulars who knew the history, but he never regretted his decision, even though working long hours, seven days a week made any kind of social life all but impossible. Holidays were the most difficult for him, and on cold, wintry nights like this, it depressed him to think about going home to an empty apartment.

With the Kaufmans gone, only one customer remained, sitting unobtrusively at the back of the diner in one of the smaller, two-person booths, nursing the same cup of coffee he’d bought over two hours earlier. If it had been a busy night, Sean might have insisted he buy something to eat or vacate the premises, or at least move to a stool at the counter, freeing up the booth for a couple, but it was such a slow night that he didn't care, and just let him be.

If he was of legal age, Sean thought, he hadn't been that way for long. Even though he hadn't yet reached thirty himself, Sean considered anyone that young a kid, and this kid was probably squatting in his diner because he had nowhere else to go.

Sean was used to transient customers who used his place as a way station in the winter months. Most of them were prostitutes who wore the same skimpy outfits all year round, and used his diner as a refuge from the cold when there were no potential johns around. Sean didn't approve of their chosen profession, but live and let live was his motto, and what harm was there in letting them warm their very exposed skin between tricks? At least they bought something while they waited inside, even if it was just donuts and coffee.

At first Sean had pegged the kid sitting alone as another hooker. He was young and pretty enough, with a mop of dark, unruly hair and incredible blue eyes. He was small in stature, looking to Sean to be his height, but he had a different body type. While Sean was stocky, the kid was slender, which combined with his pretty face, made him appear younger than he probably was, so even if he wasn't jailbait any longer, he would probably be able to pass for it for the next couple of years, something that would appeal to a lot of the men who cruised the streets looking to pay for sex and liked them young. The kid could have been hustling, but in over two hours, he hadn't left the diner even once to step outside and check for prospective customers. Plus his clothing wasn't being worn to show off the merchandise for sale. Male hustlers normally wore skin-tight jeans, usually without underwear, and often with something extra stuffed down the front of the jeans to enhance their baskets.

This kid's jeans fits snugly, but they weren't skin-tight, and while they had holes in suggestive places, Sean guessed the holes were more from normal wear and not made purposely as a fashion statement. The boots and hoodie he wore had also seen better days, as had the leather bomber jacket which was lying on the booth's other bench seat. He had also parked his duffle there, which was so packed that Sean figured he was carrying his life around with him because he didn't have a place to call home.

Thousands of kids wound up on the streets every year. Some were runaways; others were driven out of their homes by their parents or others whose job it was to protect them, and ended up selling their bodies as a way to survive. Sean could have become one of those kids, just another statistic, but he'd had parents who had always accepted him for who he was. Other kids weren't that lucky.

And it wasn't just kids. So many people were down on their luck these days, many in real financial straits. Sean knew he couldn't cure the world's ills single-handedly, but he tried to help whenever he could, never turning away anyone who needed a meal, whether they could pay for it or not.

When Sean approached his booth, the kid visibly tensed, no doubt expecting Sean was going to tell him to leave. Instead, Sean inquired, "Do you like chili?"

"Sure," the kid replied, more than a little surprised by the question.

Sean hadn't needed a verbal answer. The kid had just about salivated when he heard the word chili, so Sean asked, "Then how about a bowl?"

"I can't-I don't have--" the kid sputtered.

Sean didn't let him go any further. "It's on the house, no charge. It's the last bowl in the pot, and if you don't eat it, I'll only have to throw it out." It was a lie, of course. Sean always donated any leftover food to the local homeless shelter, but the kid didn't have to know that. "What do you say?"

More relaxed now that he knew he wasn't going to be thrown out into the snow, the kid nodded. "That would be great, thanks."

Moments later Sean returned with a large bowl of chili which the kid practically inhaled, along with an entire sleeve of crackers Sean had added to go with it. And since whatever coffee he had left in his mug had to be stone cold by now, Sean poured him another one and asked, "What about a piece of pie to go with that coffee?" He saw the protest forming in the kid's eyes and quickly added, "No charge."

"Because it's the last piece in the dish?" the kid suggested.

"How'd you know?"

"A lucky guess."

The kid smiled then, and for Sean, it was like the rainbow after a rainstorm. He went back to the counter and took a pie dish with only one slice missing from under a glass dome, and scooped a piece of apple pie out of it and onto a plate. Returning to the booth, he placed it in front of the kid, who immediately dug in. If he always ate like this, Sean wondered how he kept so thin, but if the kid was on the street, it was possible he didn't eat regularly, which was all the more reason for Sean to feed him now.

"Are they your family?" the kid asked, using his fork to point to a photo on the wall above the booth.

Rather than using landscapes or stock photos, The Lucky Clover's wall were covered with family photos dating back from when the diner first opened to just before his parents' move. "Another lucky guess?" Sean asked.

"No, it's just that you look a lot like your mom."

Sean did resemble his mother more than his father. Her Irish heritage had been passed down to him in the form of wavy chestnut hair and gold-flecked green eyes. She was a small woman, just under five feet, and though Sean was six inches taller than she was, it still made him shorter than most men, something he would have changed if he could. Another thing he wished he'd inherited from his mother was her metabolism. Unlike his mother, who could eat anything she liked and retain her petite figure, Sean had to watch his diet or he'd end up carrying too many extra pounds around his middle, which was the case now. "Yes," Sean confirmed, "those are my parents." 

"They look like nice people," Elijah observed.

"They are," Sean established, "and since we're discussing family, I think we should at least know each other's names. I'm Sean. "

The kid had just forked a piece of pie into his mouth and swallowed it quickly so he could answer. "I'm Elijah."

Sean didn't ask if he could join him. It was his diner, after all, so he slipped into the seat across from Elijah, moving his jacket and duffle aside to make room. Indicating the duffle, he asked, "So you're traveling?"

"I guess. Didn't get very far though. The only thing that doesn't cost money is hitching, and no one will stop in weather like this."

Sean didn't like the idea of anyone, especially a kid, hitchhiking. It might have been safe a couple of decades ago, but now it was far too dangerous. "Where are you headed?" he wondered.

Elijah shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Anywhere's better than here."

Sean played the odds. "You're not really traveling, are you, Elijah? You're homeless." When Elijah didn't deny it, Sean asked, "Your family can't help?"

Elijah shook his head "My Dad died when I was twelve," he explained. He touched the bomber jacket. "This is all I have left of him."

"And your mother?" Sean prompted.

"She remarried, and her husband and I don't exactly get along."

"Differing political views?" Sean suggested.

Elijah gave a harsh laugh. "You could say that. He's about as far to the right as you can go, especially when it comes to letting people love whoever they want."

Sean had suspected as much. "And the man you loved?"

Elijah didn't seem surprised that Sean had guessed he was gay. "The crazy part is, I never had a boyfriend, but that didn't matter to my stepfather because he was sure I eventually would, and that wasn't going to happen under his roof."

"Your Mom doesn't support you?"

Elijah shook his head. "I can't really blame her. Mom has no money of her own, so as long as he's paying the bills, what he says goes. His house, his rules, you get the idea. And it's not like she doesn't share his feelings."

"She told you that?"

"Let's just say she let me know I wasn't the son she'd hoped I'd be. You know, normal."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. He wanted her, so he had to take me, too, at least for a little while. But he told me from the day we moved in with him that he was going to toss me out as soon as I turned eighteen. And since I have, I'm no longer his problem…or hers."

The snow was getting thicker, visibility out the front windows completely obscured by the white stuff. The idea of a parent, even a step-parent, turning a child out into the street was abhorrent to Sean, but he knew it happened way too often, and the thought of someone like Elijah forced to be outside on a night like this was more than he could stand. "It's getting really bad out there," Sean said unnecessarily. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

Elijah frowned. "I thought I'd try one of the shelters."

"It's a good bet they're all full up by now. On a night like this, people start lining up early to get a bed." Sean hesitated, then made the offer. "I live in the apartment building across the street. It's not fancy, but the couch is comfortable."

The blue eyes that only moments ago had been trusting, now flashed anger. "I should have known the dinner really wasn't free," Elijah spat out bitterly. "So you think that just because I'm gay I'll let you fuck me to pay for the meal?"

Sean felt his color rise. "The meal came with no strings attached, and so does the couch." Barely keeping the lid on his temper, he slid out of the booth and added, "But if you're worried about your virtue, I'll take the couch and you can take my bedroom. It has a lock on the door." He started to walk away, but turned back after he heard Elijah mumble what sounded like an apology.

Seeing the red spots blooming on Elijah's cheeks, Sean thought he might have been more embarrassed than contrite. "I'm sorry," Elijah said, clearer this time. "It's just that in the short time I've been on the street, every man I've met…"

"Wanted something in return for any help they gave you," Sean finished for him, "and that something was your body."

Elijah nodded. "Even if it meant food and a place to sleep, I just couldn't do it with a stranger. There were times when I wanted so badly to be close to someone, just to be held, but even then I couldn't do it." He looked away. "I shouldn't have lumped you in with those other guys." Sean understood why he had, but before he could say so, Elijah slid out of the booth and gathered his bomber jacket and duffle. He put the jacket on, then slung the duffle over his shoulder. "Thanks again for the chili and the pie." He pulled a watchcap out of one of his jacket pockets and pulled it down over his hair, then began to walk away, calling back over his shoulder, "Happy New Year, Sean."

"Happy New Year, Elijah." Sean let him get as far as the front door before he said, "The couch is still available if you want it."

Elijah stopped, then slowly turned around to face Sean, the duffle sliding off his shoulder and onto the floor. "You'd still let me stay with you?" he asked incredulously. "Even after I accused you of wanting to fuck me?"

"I'm a stranger, and I invited you to come home with me," Sean said simply. "It was only natural for you to assume I wanted sex, so I can't blame you for reacting the way you did."

"You're being very nice," Elijah told him, "considering."

"That's because I _am_ nice," Sean established. His voice took on an upper class British accent. "Besides, 'tis not fit for man nor beast out there." Resuming his normal voice, he added, "And just so you know, I wasn't kidding about the bedroom door. It does have a lock on it."

This made Elijah smile again, all traces of anger gone. "I'll be fine on the couch."

"It's doubtful anyone else will turn up here tonight, so just let me close up and we can go."

Elijah nodded, then waited patiently while Sean performed his nightly ritual of putting the diner to bed. Once the kitchen was secure and the florescent OPEN sign finally turned off, they made the short trek across the street to Sean's building.

Sean unlocked the door and switched on a wall light. "It's not much," he prefaced as Elijah followed him inside. 

Elijah pulled off his cap and shook off the wetness as he looked around. "It's warm and it's dry. What else could I ask for?"

Sean smiled. "Every houseguest should be as easy to please as you." He hung up his coat then took Elijah's jacket and did the same with it. "The bathroom's down the hall," he began the tour. "That's my bedroom, and this is the couch you'll be sleeping on." He went to a hall closet and came back with a pillow and a thick comforter. "It really is comfortable. I've fallen asleep on it many a night while I was reading or watching television."

"I'm sure it is, but as tired as I am, it could be filled with rocks and I'd still sleep like the dead."

"The kitchen is through those pocket doors," Sean finished. "I can't imagine you're still hungry after what you put away at the diner, but if you get up in the middle of the night and want a snack, help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."

"I'm not hungry, just really beat, so if it's okay, I'm just gonna crash."

"It's fine. I'm going to do the same thing myself."

"I promise I'll be out of here first thing in the morning, as soon as it's light. I'll try not to wake you when I leave."

Sean knew what he was thinking was crazy. He knew nothing about the kid other than that he was gay and alone. At worst, he would be murdered in his sleep; at best, the kid would probably rob him blind, and yet Sean knew it was the right thing to do. "Elijah," he began, "you don't have to leave in the morning. If you want, you can stay here for a few days. Hell, you can stay as long as you like, give yourself time to decide where you want to go and what you want to do."

"And keep sleeping on the couch," Elijah clarified.

Sean exhaled loudly. "Look, I've already told you I have no intention of taking advantage of you. I honestly don't know what else I can say to make you believe me, but you can either take me at my word, or go back out into the storm. It's your choice."

Elijah said, "I know I can trust you, Sean."

"Good, I'm glad that's settled. Now why don't we both get some sleep?"

"Okay. Goodnight, Sean."

"Goodnight, Elijah."

Sean used the bathroom first, coming out wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt. Standing just inside his bedroom, he considered for a second closing the door, then realizing he was being foolish, put out the light and got into bed. He then proceeded to lie there for the next hour, staring up at the ceiling, wide awake. 

It wasn't fear keeping him from sleep. Even though he knew nothing about Elijah except what he'd been told, Sean found he inherently trusted him, but he wasn't so sure he could trust himself, considering all he could think about was the kid sleeping in the next room. Despite all his noble words, Sean couldn't deny that he wished Elijah wasn't sleeping on the couch in the living room, but here in his bedroom, sharing his bed, which after hearing Elijah say he trusted him, made Sean feel guilty as hell. 

The sudden noise coming from the other room had Sean bolting upright in bed. He switched on his bedside lamp and turned toward the doorway to see Elijah standing there, clad only in boxers and a tee-shirt. Sean held his breath, waiting to see what would happen next, and was stunned when Elijah came into the bedroom. "I don't understand," was all Sean could think to say.

Elijah went to the bed, and without waiting for an invitation or even permission, he pulled back the covers and got in beside Sean. He locked eyes with Sean, then finally said, "I need to thank you," and to make sure Sean understood what he meant, Elijah reached over and his hand found Sean through the flannel pants he wore, grasping the burgeoning erection his lying in bed thinking about Elijah had produced. 

Mortified, Sean tried to turn over to hide his condition. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Don't be," Elijah told him, keeping his hand where it was. "You know, I can take care of that for you, or you can fuck me if you want to."

Sean wanted to, had been imagining doing just that in graphic detail before Elijah had appeared in the doorway as if summoned by the power of Sean's thoughts. He wanted it so much that the intensity of it scared him, but not knowing if the offer had come from real attraction or misplaced gratitude, Sean refused. "You said you couldn't have sex with a stranger," he reminded Elijah. 

"You don't feel like a stranger," Elijah said.

"But I am," Sean told him, "and for the last time, you don't owe me anything." He removed Elijah's hand from his cock. "Least of all this."

For a moment Elijah said nothing, then surprised Sean by asking, "If I can't do anything for you, then would you do something for me?" When Sean nodded, he said, "Would you hold me, just for a little while?"

Sean, truly touched by the request, replied, "I'd like that very much."

When Sean's arms went around him and pulled him close, Elijah confessed, "I know you're not like those other guys, Sean. I think I knew it the minute I saw you."

Sean smiled against Elijah's hair. "I'm glad to hear that."

"But if you change your mind, I can still--" Elijah began.

"No," Sean insisted, but feeling Elijah's warmth beside him, he knew sticking to his resolve was going to be difficult. The kid was so incredibly beautiful, so utterly alluring, that all Sean wanted was to touch him, but he was determined to be strong. Putting a finger under Elijah's chin, he lifted the lovely face up to meet his, and when Elijah gave an almost imperceptible nod, Sean allowed himself one kiss. He had meant it to be a chaste one, but to his great joy, Elijah welcomed the kiss and deepened it, stopping only when Sean gently pulled back. Even though he knew Elijah would have let him take it further, Sean was satisfied with the kiss.

Tomorrow was the first day of a new year, a year of untold promise, and should the fates be kind and find him worthy, perhaps Elijah would one day come to him feeling something more than gratitude. But for now, the kiss would be enough.

While he had been envisioning the future, Elijah had fallen asleep in the present, and was now softly snoring. Elijah seeking safety and security in his arms had deeply affected Sean. Relaxed now, he was finally ready for sleep. Before Elijah's appearance in his room, he had contemplated counting sheep, but now he replayed the amazing kiss over and over again in his mind until, with the sweet taste of Elijah still on his lips, Sean finally drifted off. The future would take care of itself.


End file.
